


Bottles, the True Story

by Allen_Pierce



Category: Banjo-Kazooie Series
Genre: Alcohol, Bugs & Insects, Divorce, Domestic Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2019-03-24 06:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13805280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allen_Pierce/pseuds/Allen_Pierce
Summary: In Banjo-Kazooie: Nuts & Bolts, Bottles tells you that his family left him because they were traumatized by his resurrection after dying in Banjo-Tooie. But that doesn't make sense, because he was brought back to life at the end of Banjo-Tooie and they weren't phased in the slightest. Mrs. Bottles didn't even believe him. So here, I've tried to fill in the gaps. Enjoy.





	Bottles, the True Story

**Author's Note:**

> originally published on fanfiction.net

"I don't care how burnt it is," she said, "you're still eating it."

"It's not my fault—the witch killed me and I've only just come back to life."

"Yes, I'm sure you have, dear…"

 _Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say. Fat bitch_ , Bottles thought. At this point, he was only there for the kids. And he really did love them, mind you, more than anything else in the world. She could go die in a hole, though, as far as he was concerned.

That night, they had a party to celebrate Grunty's second defeat, and she acted nice for company, as usual. As soon as the guests were gone and the kids were asleep, though, things went back to normal.

"Ow! You know, I really don't like it when you hit me," he said, rubbing the back of his head. People laugh about men getting bonked on the head with rolling pins, but he never found it so funny.

"Do I look like I give a damn? All day you spend with that bear and bird and that skull guy, doing God-knows-what, and I'm sick of it!"

"We play poker," he said, trying to remain calm. "We talk about their adventures and I live vicariously through them." He could feel the anger rising. "God forbid I get to have some excitement in my life! Why does that bother you so much‽"

"Their relationship is unnatural. A bear and a bird shouldn't live together like that."

"They're just friends!"

"I'm so sure."

He was done. He was so done. He couldn't fathom being more done with this woman. Then worms started wriggling out of his eye sockets.

"Oh my God, what's happening‽" she said.

"Still don't believe me about being dead all that time, eh? Well, this is what happens when a corpse sits out rotting for two weeks before it gets reanimated because Banjo and Kazooie—they have fucking names, by the way—insisted on getting every jiggy and didn't have the decency to put me in a freezer, and I am kind of miffed about that, but at least they care about me more than you!"

He had never shouted at her before that night, and he wasn't very good at it. Still, he felt satisfied, like never before.

Suddenly, a cacophony of bugs from every orifice.  _Every_ orifice. Ants from beneath his fingernails, beetles from his mouth, centipedes from his nostrils, and you don't want to know what came from his anus and urethra.

He was lifted from the ground by the sheer collective mass of the bugs, stretched his arms out like Christ almighty and shouted unto the heavens: "My only solace in this moment of agony is that you'll have to clean up all of this alone because I'm leaving you!"

The kids saw everything from the doorway.

He left the next morning. He writes to them on occasion. They don't write back. He cries himself to sleep every night, clutching a bottle of Colt 45.


End file.
